Choices
by Terzima
Summary: This fic starts at the end of episode 11, season 3. It is an alternative to the official season 3 ending, a rebellion against what the writers have imposed on us... Caution for swearing, sexual references, plus "choices" some will probably find controversial.
1. Reflections

_I want to thank you all (patigerr, Bookworm1986, LilMisfit5290, red lighting, Deep Forest Green, kreen, Diana, indigovioletstargazer, lipamo) for your encouragement after _Dawn in Istanbul_. It was a nice surprise for a first try to receive so many good reviews. _

_For the time being, I haven't been inspired by a sequel to that one, but here is something else I hope you will also enjoy, although it is very different._

* * *

**Choices – 1: Reflections**

Where is he? What did he do? What happened? Where is he? Where is he? What I am doing here? Where did I go wrong? What was all that shit for? Where is he? Where is he? WHERE IS HE?

Carrie screamed in her head. She was terrified. She felt that panic was trying to bore its way into her chest, tearing at her clothes, her skin, reaching for her heart to crush it.

Where is he? What happened? Where is he? Where…

STOP. Will you fucking STOP NOW Carrie? Quinn yelled in her ears.

Quinn, get lost. What are doing here anyway? And who do you think you are? My fucking conscience or something?

She didn't like the sound of her laugh, but the panic receded a bit.

She tried to focus her gaze on the full-length mirror on the wall in front of her.

There she was.

Concentrate on what you're seeing, Madame Bezieux.

I am in a hotel room in Tehran where I've spent the last 6 days waiting to hear about about Brody. I am sitting on the floor with my back against the luggage rack at the foot of the bed. On the bed behind me, I can see my black shoulder bag. In the bag, there is a sat phone. Inside the phone there're Brody's last words. Brody's words are inside the phone in the bag. They won't escape, won't reach my ears, won't swirl in my brain like they've done for the last two hours

_I told'em already, I don't wanna leave… Regroup for what?... Leave leave leave where? I have nowhere to go Carrie… I can't go back to the States… to do what? Hide out? So they're hunting us both?... I've been through that already Carrie, I won't do it again, and I won't do it to you… and I won't do it to you… and I_

STOP, Quinn said.

Fuck you Quinn.

Focus Carrie. Focus.

Sure. Happy to oblige.

I'm sitting on the floor in a hotel room and on my left, I can see the French windows opening onto a balcony overlooking the mountains. This is where I saw my reflection in the window pane on my first night here. I was on the phone with fucking Saul and I saw a pregnant woman in the glass door. It was me.

I wanted to get pregnant.

No! Of course you didn't!

Well, not really. I just forgot my pill when we were at the cabin the second time.

Well, I didn't really "forget" to take it.

Damn it Brody, when we fuck you know what?

It's not fucking. It's like "making love". You know, that stuff they talk about in magazines and romantic films. First time I've felt that. Yessir. Delightfully corny, isn't it? Add the croissants for breakfast and we're ready for the best romantic couple of the year award.

By the way, next time, you're the one who'll go get the croissants.

Next time?

Shhhhhhhh…. Focus on now, here.

I'm sitting on the floor, looking at myself, and what do I see? A stupid little nutcase who has wasted her life on a job she thought was the most important job in the world because she could protect her beloved country from the bad guys and who cared how many people died in the process, expendables, collateral damage, you name it, they were agents or soldiers anyway, they had chosen their sacrifice so it was okay.

Except it was not.

Okay.

Anymore.

The agony that had wrenched her as she watched Brody's truck explode on a mine at the Iran/Iraq border. The hate that had overwhelmed her when Mike Higgins suggested to launch a drone attack on the truck to cover his fuckin' ass.

And today. Today. Saul had told her to come back. Because it was over. Because they were letting Brody down.

No. They were not letting him down. They wanted him dead.

The good guys working with her beloved country were about to kill him.

Yes sweetie. That is how it is supposed to end. Just say bye bye Brody and get your ass back to the CIA and smile and work, business as usual, so what, nothing lasts forever anyway.

It was too much for her to handle. Something snapped in her brain.

Silently, little by little, numbness wrapped her in its comforting arms.

She welcomed it. It felt good.

Some sort of reddish darkness descended upon her mind like a curtain signaling the end of the play, shutting off the light of life.

She welcomed it. She wanted it all to stop. She could not go on like this.

It was too hard.

It was useless.

So she gave up. She could not think anymore. Could not hear, could not see, and finally, could not feel anymore.

She surrendered to nothingness.

* * *

"Madame Bezieux !"

Just shut the fuck up and TURN OFF THE DAMN LIGHT.

"Madame Bezieux, s'il-vous-plaît !"

"Qu'est-ce que vous voulez ? Laissez-moi tranquille", she mumbled. The carpet on the floor was soft, a little wet under her cheek; she wanted to stay there forever.

"Votre chauffeur est là, vous devez partir tout de suite".

What the hell were these guys talking about? She was not going anywhere. Everything was over. That's all she knew.

"Voulez-vous de l'aide pour faire vos bagages ?"

Sensing they were nowhere near letting her be, she managed to open an eye, the light burning like a laser. She saw she was in a hotel room that looked familiar, just like the two men who were leaning over her.

They reached out to help her when she started to stand up.

"Qu'est-ce qui se passe ?" she asked.

They explained that it was close to midnight, that two men were waiting for her in the lobby and that they had paid her bill. The desk clerks had tried to call her for 10 minutes, then decided to come knock on the door, and got inside the room with their master key when nobody answered.

So be it.

Like a robot, she packed her stuff and followed them, not even wondering who was there.

She didn't give a damn.


	2. Done with Death

_Sorry, I had to delete and re-publish the first chapter because I did something wrong in the publishing process... My mistake..._

* * *

**Choices – 2: Done with Death**

"Sir, we've got a signal; she's moving. And not toward the airport," Quinn said, rushing into Saul's office.

"What?" said Saul, rising his head from the cardboard box where he was putting the things he was about to take home with him.

"Carrie has left the hotel" Quinn answered.

"Damn. Let's go".

They both hurried to the operation room. Everybody knew Saul had just been fired because of the Tehran disaster but nobody protested. Lockhart, the new director, was not there yet.

There was a pulsing signal on the screen where a satellite image of Tehran was displayed.

"Who's going?" asked Saul.

"We've got the two guys from Mossad underway. Seems like the signal is not moving anymore."

Saul and Quinn exchanged a glance. It was not good.

One of the Israelis spoke through the crackling connection: "Almost there, we have located it on our GPS".

"What does the area look like? How far is it from the hotel?" Saul asked.

"Close, maybe 5 miles; it's a residential area, very quiet".

"Good; maybe she's at Masud's" offered Quinn.

"Here we are; the signal is right here. But there's no house"

"What do you mean, no house?" Saul growled.

"It's an empty avenue going through a big park. I think the signal comes from a trash can over there."

Quinn clenched his teeth.

"How big the container?" asked Saul.

"Too small for a body, don't worry guys."

The sound of the car door being slammed shut resonated in the room. They heard the man breathing in the phone as he walked to the can.

"Shit."

"WHAT?"

"I found a sat phone in the can. I'm taking it"

The signal made a tiny movement on the screen.

"Yeap; that's it. Fuck. Nothing else?" asked Saul.

"No."

Saul looked at Quinn: "Send someone to the hotel to ask questions."

"But you're not…" Quinn started.

"NOW" snapped Saul.

* * *

They had all wanted him to be a killer.

When he joined the army, he strongly believed it was good to fight for his country, even if it involved killing other human beings. He would even be rewarded by a shiny medal or a nicer uniform. Haha. But the truth was that he craved for recognition, imagining the love and admiration in Jess's eyes and the kids', coming back home as a hero.

He had simplistic expectations at the time… He had not yet gone to hell and back - twice.

Then his path crossed Abu Nazir's. Who turned him into a senseless brute, pounding his friend Tom to death - or so he thought. And he did it. To save his ass. But later killed him for good in a Washington seedy tunnel. After killing the tailor in the forest.

At least, the suicide bomber he thought he had become failed.

Thanks to Dana, thanks to Carrie… Thanks to a tenuous thread of love, life prevailed.

And it changed everything. Except that he had to kill again. The American vice-president. Who was an asshole, and not only as a US politician. But asshole or not, he didn't want to kill him. He didn't want to kill anyone anymore.

But that ubiquitous fiend Abu Nazir wanted his revenge, and with Carrie at his mercy, Brody had no choice. He just couldn't let her die. Carrie loved him, even the Brody he had become. She was not scared. She had seen through him right from the beginning. And she had also seen the tiny little piece of good that was left in him. She had saved him. He couldn't leave her. He couldn't lose her.

That's also why he had accepted this mission. Not that he had a choice anyway. Saul, goddam Saul, had retrieved him from the stinking cells of that Caracas purulent wart of a tower only to use him as a deadly puppet once more.

But at least, he could foster the hope that maybe, one day, they would be reunited…

So he went to Tehran. Played the game they wanted him to. Didn't have time to think, took the cyanide needle, blocking from his mind's eye the ugly sight of Death beckoning him into his offensive realm again.

The plan failed. And it was a relief.

Finally he could take some rest.

He took on the role of the CIA bomber, a traitor to his country and a hero in Iran, strutting around from TV sets to radio shows to spit his disgust of America. He did a pretty good job at acting but he had little merit: he had been so brainwashed by Nazir that it was easy to assume the role of a religious fanatic once more.

It saved him a little time. After all he had been through, he enjoyed living some sort of an "ordinary" life, meeting people, going to the mosque, sleeping and eating well, breathing in the sun and listening to the birds sing. Yes, such simple things - but which meant he was alive.

And above all, it gave him the time to think.

He decided pretty early that he would refuse the extraction plan and wouldn't go back to the USA. What for? Everyone there thought he was a terrorist. His daughter abhorred him; he didn't know his son. He was a pariah. And he would be dependent on fucking CIA; it meant he would have to comply with whatever plan they had in mind for him and he had enough.

He would not be anyone's deadly puppet anymore.

He never wanted to have to kill again.

He was done with death.

When he got that phone call from Carrie at the mosque, warning him that they were about to kill him, it broke his heart to refuse to flee with her – but fleeing was pointless. He had something else in mind. And the time to act had come.

His biggest fear now was Carrie's reaction; he may lose her forever. His heart sank at the pospect. But oddly enough, he had the feeling she would understand, that she too would be ready.

It was a risky gamble and he was about to know if he had taken the pot. She would be there in less than an hour now.

The sunrise on the Caspian Sea was achingly beautiful.

Brody filled his lungs with the warm salty air and from the imposing terrace of Akbari's villa on Ashooradeh Island, smiled at a flock of majestic seabirds that flew over his head in a feathery rustle.


	3. Safety Island

_**Betweentheraindrops:** your review where you say that I "get Brody" has touched me a lot; I try my best to pay homage to this extraordinary character who has suffered so much throughout the series and ended up betrayed and discarded like an old rag… He deserved more respect than that._

_Thank you** LuckyU**, **LilMisfit5290**, **Bookworm1986** for your precious support – including technical (Bookworm1986, you rock!)_

* * *

**Choices – 3: Safety Island**

Quinn knocked on the door and got in without waiting for an answer.

Saul was sitting at his empty desk. Two boxes were on the floor.

Saul's face was drawn and he looked exhausted. Depressed. Quinn could have sworn he had wept.

"Good," thought Quinn, "this mess is all your fault, asshole."

"I had someone talk with the hotel desk clerks," Quinn announced.

"Go ahead," Saul said keeping his eyes down.

"So you know what shame is after all…" thought Quinn.

He said aloud "They said that at about midnight local time – 8:30 am here – two men, Iranians, came in and said they were coming to drive Madame Bezieux to the airport. They paid for her stay in cash. The night clerks had to get into the room with their master key because she was not answering the phone or the door. They found her on the floor."

Quinn paused. Took a deep breath. It hurt. "Apparently she had lost consciousness; but she was able to pack and didn't ask questions."

Carrie not asking questions didn't make any sense. They both knew it. Something was terribly wrong.

"She met the guys downstairs and left with them. That's all."

"That's all," repeated Saul.

"Yes. That's. Fuckin'. All." Quinn hissed, slamming his hands on the desk and leaning threateningly toward Saul.

Saul finally looked up. Saw the hate in Quinn's eyes.

"One night, I told Estes I was here to kill the bad guys." Quinn's voice was deep and raspy with rage. "Sometimes, you realize too late they're right beside you."

Quinn straightened up and added, walking toward the door: "May you rot in hell Saul."

* * *

The eerie episode of the hotel was blurry in her memory. She remembered meeting two Iranian men in the hotel lobby. They told her they were about to drive her some place where she would meet someone important but could not tell her more now. That she would be free to leave afterwards if that was her choice. They asked for her phone but not her passport.

After her fugue, she was too drained to argue. She followed them, sat at the back of the car with one of the guys. The other one sat in the front, a driver was there already.

They were gentle with her. They stopped several times so that she could go to the bathroom, provided her with water and food. She remembered thinking that was maybe because she was pregnant.

But it was the only thought she allowed to cross the threshold of her consciousness. There was a swarm of thoughts buzzing at the back of her mind. They were trying to force their way out in the open but she was too scared; she couldn't allow them to escape. She knew they would be monstrous, dangerous creatures that would sting, maybe kill her.

The merciful sound of the engine lulled her back to the safety of sleep.

She is trapped in that hedge maze again, that maze where she has spent most of her short nights' sleeps for the past years. It is both safe, because familiar, and frightening. Exactly like her illness. Her work. Her country. Her life. All made of extremes, all filled with contradictions. Enjoying highs and fearing lows, or the other way round. Ricocheting between manipulation and sincerity. Waging wars to ensure peace. Saving lives by killing others. Speaking lies to carry out truths. And what's the truth anyway? What is right and what is wrong? Which way should she go? She walks a few steps and is halted by a mirror. Mirrors are all around these days. Curiously she can't see her image in this one. Only the dark green alley she came from. Empty. No, there is some movement in…

A succession of bumps on the road shook her out of sleep. She didn't want to leave the maze, she knew she was about to find the solution to the riddle. She kept her eyes shut, to no avail. She heard one of the men ask the driver to slow down because of her condition. She was not used to so much courtesy from the people around her. Being pregnant had good sides…

Accepting her pregnancy was new to her. And accepting not to be in charge too. As far as she could remember, it was the first time in her adult life that she had willingly accepted to lose control over her whereabouts.

She finally opened her eyes. And as if her eyelids had triggered an explosive device, the wall holding back her thoughts collapsed. Everything rushed back. She was overwhelmed by images and sensations, memories and pain.

Brody.

The tears started falling. Quietly, as though trying not to disturb.

She turned her face to the left, she didn't want to be seen crying. By the car window, all she saw was an immensity of water, iridescent in the rising sun. The view was peaceful and soothing. The tears subsided a little, enough for her to speak.

"Are we there yet?" she asked.

"Yes, Madam, we are really close now," the man in the front answered.

"Can you tell me where we are?"

"This is the Caspian Sea on the left, and on the right the Gorgan Gulf", said the man beside her.

She realized she knew where they were, she had studied the geography of Iran in detail. "This is the Miankaleh peninsula, isn't it?"

"Yes, "the man nodded.

She knew there was an island with an abandoned Russian castle at the end of the strip of land but had no idea what else was there. She asked her improvised guide.

"Sorry, we can't say," was the answer she got.

Ten minutes later, the car stopped at the entrance of a small bridge. The security was impressive for such a small pathway, several trucks and a dozen of armed guards. The guards knew the men in the car and allowed them to continue at once.

Thankfully. She was getting impatient. Her old self seemed to have come back from its short stay in the twilight zone of lethargy.

After a few more miles on a deserted road lined with short trees, the car arrived at a high gate that opened without their having to stop; the guards were obviously expecting them. Now that the sun was fully out, she recognized the insignia on their green uniforms. They were from the IRGC. "Shit", she thought. Fear started to mount and she didn't pay attention to the lush garden they were now driving through.

The car finally stopped in front of a three-story mansion; she almost choked at the heat that fell upon her when she got out of the air-conditioned car. Two men, dressed in white long robes and with no apparent weapons came to meet her.

"Welcome Madam. Let us take your luggage and will you please follow us?"

The men were warm and polite.

It made no sense. She didn't know the IRGC had opened guest-houses for American CIA agents. All of this was getting fucking more absurd by the minute.

She followed the guys into the house hallway.

"We will take your bags to the guest-room. Please, proceed to the living-room and take a seat," said one of the men opening a door for her.

There was no one in there. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck"

She was about to sit down on the couch when she heard footsteps approaching.

"Finally". She readied herself to snap at her mystery host, but when the door opened, she just stood there, stunned.

It was Brody.

He took a few hesitant steps toward her, a tentative smile on his lips.

It broke her paralysis. She walked to him, looked at that beloved face, those blue eyes where she thought she would never drown herself again. Was it real? She lifted a hand, gently touched his cheek with the tip of her fingers.

He took her in his arms, pressed her body against him, feeling her lips on his neck.

He just said "love" and closed his eyes.


	4. Recess

_Thanks everyone for your reviews and PMs! I don't have a lot of merit regarding the hedge maze since it is part of the series opening credits, but at least I tried to explore the meaning it could have for Carrie, which the series writers completely left out. And it's a pity. Thanks LuckyU for drawing my attention back to the series opening sequence._

_This new chapter is shorter and less psychological… Hey, it's all about love! I'm not too good at that kind of scenes but Carrie and Brody deserve a break, and I hope you enjoy it anyway._

* * *

**Choices – 4: Recess**

They kissed, and looked at each other, then kissed again. Greedy mouths and hungry eyes, deprived of each other for so long.

"Is there a bedroom somewhere in this guest-house?" asked Carrie after a few minutes.

Brody was puzzled by the choice of words but took her by the hand. "Sure. Follow me, love."

They climbed two flights of wooden stairs; the deserted staircase echoed with their urgent footsteps and impatient breaths. They even let out a few chuckles, as if they were kids, cheery, innocent kids again.

Brody opened a double door and they stepped into a spacious master bedroom. The sun was trapped outside by heavy curtains, a ceiling fan was spinning in a soft hum. A huge bed with white sheets that looked clean and crisp was waiting for them, incredibly inviting.

Carrie said "I badly need to take a shower."

Brody showed her a door on the other side of the bed. "That way. Hurry. Please…" he whispered in her ear.

When she came back, wrapped in a bath towel, Brody was lying on the bed. Naked. God. He was so sexy. His little mischievous smile had always killed her. She almost cried with joy at being there with him. For real. Not in her fantasies when she was alone at night and couldn't sleep.

She joined him on the bed, keeping the towel around her. Brody laughed: "Why are you being so modest today? I've seen you naked before, you know."

Carrie laughed too: "Hey, it's been a while, I'm older now!"

She leaned toward his face and only then took the towel off and let it slip on the floor.

Her large blue eyes were all he could see now. He felt the water dripping from her hair on his face, his shoulders. It sent shivers of pleasure throughout his body. He loved her so much. With her, he always felt fully alive. Fully himself. Complete. Not some kind of human jigsaw puzzle reassembled in the wrong order.

His arms enveloped the smooth skin of her body. She locked her legs around him and rolled over so as to have him on top of her.

"Nicholas Brody. I fuckin' love you. And don't you dare running from me ever again," she warned as she opened her legs and pushed him inside her.

* * *

She was on her back, her eyes closed, her mouth half-opened, her breath slow and relaxed. He was lying on his side against her, watching her. He was happy to see her so serene, grateful to have her here beside him - even though it might be the last time. They had to talk but he didn't want to. He wanted to stay like this forever, in this improbable haven in the middle of nowhere, far away from the chaos of the outside world. Just the two of them. And erase all the rest from their memories, erase their past lives and start it all over again with a clean slate.

His fingers lingered over her face, then descended upon her breasts and her stomach. He gently followed the sensual contours of her body, which was more curvy than he remembered. She had probably put on some weight while in Tehran; Persian cuisine was rich and tasty.

"Hey Carrie, the operation doesn't seem to have cut your appetite," he could not help teasing her.

She opened her eyes and smiled.

"Oh, you have noticed that I've gained weight," she teased back, "but it's not because I've eaten more than usual."

"Really? And what's the reason then?"

"You guess."

"Okay. Let me try… Hmmmmm, it's because you've stopped exercising," he offered, his lips playing with the little beads of sweat that had formed between her breasts.

She shook her head and laughed: "I've never even started exercising, you know that!"

"All right, what…"

He stopped in mid-sentence. Suddenly, he knew.

"Carrie… Are you…?"

She kept her face impassive. "Am I… what?" She wanted him to say it. Wanted to see what the word was like coming out of his mouth; maybe his voice would make it sound less terrifying.

"Carrie," he said softly, "are you pregnant?"

Yeah. She liked the sound of it, and she found the little motifs it drew in the air quite pleasing.

So it was okay. Everything would be okay, she convinced herself.

"Yes. From our weekend at the cabin, the second time. Four months," she explained.

"But.. how?"

"I forgot to take my pill. As simple as that."

The news was so unexpected that all he could do was gape at Carrie, who seemed a bit nervous now, waiting for his reaction.

A violent rush of emotions ran through him. He wanted to cry but didn't know if it was out of joy or out of concern. He was indescribably happy to be given another chance at being a father. But he was in complete dismay as this tiny new life was going to make things even more complicated than they already were.

"Oh Carrie. Carrie" was all he could say.

The talking would wait.

Carrie reached out for his head, caressed it softly while he was brushing her belly with his lips, as if silently speaking to the little being growing in there. The sight was fascinating. She relished every second of it.

She was not alone anymore.

Everything would be okay now.


	5. The Hand

_**LilMisfit5290**, here is your lunch delivery :-/ **Lipamo**, thank you so much for your enthusiasm! It is really heartwarming. **Bookworm1986**, **LuckyU**, thanks for your continuous support._

_All right, so now comes the "controversial" part… Everything has its price._

* * *

**Choices – 5: The Hand**

Brody had gone downstairs to get some food and cold drinks, so she had put her towel back on and was visiting the bedroom. It was decorated with taste, all in wood and white, with a few touches of orange and gold. She pulled the curtains, and saw that the French windows opened on an imposing terrace. The sky was a sharp blue, and she made out the sea in the distance. She watched the seabirds with envy: flying, the supreme freedom, just take off and escape from all earthly worries.

She still didn't know what was going on and as much as she tried to suppress the questions that were trying to push their way in her head, she knew they couldn't continue to play Romeo and Juliet in a blissful ignorance forever.

Damn, that was a bad example, Romeo and Juliet both die in the end. It is so unfair. She cried for hours when she read it during her high school years. She was still romantic then. But after her first broken heart, she promised herself never to fall in love again. And it worked pretty well. Until Brody.

She shook her head at her own weakness; she didn't like being weak. Fuck. She badly needed a drink. Tequila. A whole bottle. Get drunk and fall asleep in Brody's arms, that was her kind of romantic. Fuck. She didn't like being pregnant either.

Uh-oh, she knew that feeling, could be the start of a high phase. Damn, no, please, no.

She sat on a big armchair in the sitting room to try to calm down. Mechanically switched on the TV.

The face of Javadi appeared on the screen, and the camera pull back showed he was handcuffed. What the hell. She tensed on the chair, turning the sound up. She didn't get everything that was being said, but apparently, he had been arrested for embezzling money from the IRGC. A severe Akbari was also shown talking.

An icy current surged through her body, spreading from her throat to her heart and her stomach. What did he do? What did fucking Brody do?

Tears started running on her cheeks; tears of disappointment, tears of rage, tears of shame and contempt at her own stupidity. She had fooled herself for a few hours. But now the truth was there in full light. Of course. Brody was a traitor. Finding herself with Brody on an island guarded by the IRGC, and everything was supposed to be okay? Really? What was she thinking? Well, she was not thinking at all, that was what she was thinking.

She heard Brody from the other side of the door: "Knock-knock! Room service!" and he stepped in, carrying deftly a tray with water and sandwiches. He put the tray on the coffee table, and only then looked at her. The big smile he was wearing vanished when he saw her taut, sitting on the edge of the chair, like a panther ready to strike. Her eyes were murderous even behind the tears that were rolling on her face. A quick glance at the TV screen and he understood that the moment he dreaded so much had come. He turned off the TV. Braced himself. "Carrie, please, listen to me".

"You're a fucking traitor, aren't you." she hissed.

"Carrie, will you please listen to me? You listen to what I have to say and then, you're free to go if that's what you want. Please."

She got up and went to her bags, took some clean clothes out. "You have two minutes," she spat, starting to get dressed.

He spoke quickly, explained that after her phone call at the mosque, he had no choice but seek protection from the only people that could help him. Thanks to Nassrin, he was able to meet Akbari, and told him everything about the CIA operation, and Javadi's role in it, including the money he had embezzled. He assured Akbari that he, of course, never intended to really kill him and now that the CIA had realized it, they wanted him to die. Akbari seemed willing to trust his word, he sent his guards right away to arrest Javadi, and promised Brody his complete protection to thank him for saving his life and helping the IRGC to get a chance to retrieve the money stolen by Javadi.

Brody was out of breath for speaking without stopping, but also because he was reliving the stress of being both hunted and maybe throwing himself down into the lion's den.

"He could have killed you right away," snapped Carrie.

"Yes, but he didn't. It was risky all right but if I stayed on the streets, I was dead meat. Thanks to your nice obedient _colleagues_. I had to try something, anything. I didn't want to fucking die, Carrie. Can you understand that? Can you understand that I just wanted to stay alive? Is that too much to ask? I came back from the dead twice. TWICE. And I was supposed to offer myself in sacrifice for Mister Berenson's glorious plan? Bullshit, Carrie. This is all bullshit. I'm done with all that crap of fighting for a country, fighting for some fucking peace that will never happen as long as there're men on earth, fighting for fat-bellied assholes who play toy soldiers with men and women, sending them to their deaths from the comfort of their swivel leather chairs between two meals in gourmet restaurants where they'll toast with the worst heads of states of the planet while pretending they're enemies when blathering on TV. So yes, Carrie, I did what I did to save my fucking ass, and if you can't understand that, Carrie, just leave. Now."

The _now_ boomed like thunder in the stifling air of the room.

Carrie grabbed her bags and walked toward the door. Not as briskly as he expected though. He clung to the faintest glimmer of hope.

What Brody did was unacceptable, revolting; it went against everything she believed in, lived and fought for; she had to go and never turn back, pretend he had never existed.

Yet, something was tickling at the back of her brain. Brody's words had struck a chord deep inside her memory; the words resonated somehow and it was an odd sensation because it made no sense. She loved her job, she was a proud patriot and would do anything for her country, even if it meant…

The mirror. The mirror in the hotel room in Tehran, before she lost consciousness. The words that had bounced in her head and what they implied had been too much to handle then. But now she remembered them, could even hear them as if recorded in the folds of her brain: _"expendables, collateral damage… agents or soldiers anyway, they had chosen their sacrifice so it was okay... Just say bye bye Brody and get your ass back to the CIA and smile and work, business as usual"_

All right, he had to save his ass. Granted. Damn. She almost lost her mind at the thought of losing him for good. But not that way.

Not that way.

Facing the door, reaching out for the doorknob, she said in a bland voice: "There was another solution; we could have left together when I called you at the mosque."

She heard Brody laugh bitterly behind her: "Yeah, right, in your nice little rental car, and then what? We had nowhere to go. We wouldn't have lasted two hours. You know that as well as I do." He paused. "At least now we have a way out."

Carrie's hand froze on the doorknob. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Carrie, please, turn around and look at me."

She closed her eyes. She didn't want to look at him. It would hurt too much and she had to go. She had to go.

"Carrie." She felt his hand on her shoulder. It was both gentle and strong. Reassuring. But it should not be. It was the hand of a traitor.


	6. Mind Games

_**LuckyU**, thanks for your review; it is short but full of wisdom and sums up pretty well my own feelings._

_**LilMisfit5290**: wow… what a compliment! Actually, the series writers gave birth to 3 awesome, unique characters that I feel a strong connection with: Brody, Carrie, Carrie/Brody. But the writers have given up on them. They killed Brody and Carrie/Brody because they didn't fit in the "plan" anymore and were too much work. As for Carrie, they let her live but she needed some serious readjustment: look at her at the end of the finale! Now that's a good girl! The last 20 minutes are an insult to intelligence. Plain and simple._

_**Bookworm1986** and **betweentheraindrops**: thank you, your support means a lot to me. **Bookworm**, funny how our fics resonate with one another… parallel universes where destinies are different but feelings identical…_

* * *

**Choices – 6: Mind Games**

His touch was like electricity sending little jolts of current throughout her body – particularly in her lower stomach; she had no control over it and it was disturbing. It reminded her of their first encounters. He was the "bad guy" but attracted her like a magnet. And what if the "but" was in fact a "because"? How are you supposed to be a good agent if you're attracted to terrorists or traitors?

Right now her mind said "open the door", her body said "turn around".

Fuck. She dropped her bags on the floor, dryly pushed his hand away from her shoulder, walked up to the living room and sat again in the armchair. All without glancing once at him. She helped herself to a glass of water, and started nibbling on one of the sandwiches. She knew it was ridiculous, she had never been less hungry and she knew he knew it but it gave her a countenance.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Brody sit on the couch opposite her.

What he was about to ask her was extremely selfish. Contrary to him, she still had people who loved her in America; she had a family she could count on and who would miss her. And with the baby, it was even worse… but there was no way he could have guessed. She didn't tell him she was pregnant before he left for Iran. Damn, he even saw her _smoking__._

He had always kept in mind her determination after the Langley bombing. She was the one who wanted them to run away, and had everything ready within a couple of hours. A very efficient would-be runaway indeed.

They should have remained together that day; they would have flown to some safe, exotic place where they would have made love all day on a desert beach and sipped cocktails all night in bed and the reverse. How many times had he fantasized on those images when he was locked up in that fucking container sailing toward an even worse cage in South America… From holes to boxes, that was his destiny. Damn it. No more holes, no more boxes; from now on, he would be the one in charge of designing his own future.

He finally spoke. "I asked Akbari for his protection but I told him that I couldn't stay in Iran because the CIA or Mossad would find me quickly: I couldn't blend in with the locals, and my face was already too famous all over the country. Plus I told him that I wanted to leave with you."

"What?" Carrie almost choked on the bread. "You told him what?"

"That's why you're here. But remember you're free to go any time Carrie. That's part of the contract. If you want to leave, they'll drive you back to the airport."

"And you trust his word?" Carrie couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Yes. I took advantage of his obvious contempt for Western women, like all his peers at the IRGC. You're a totally insignificant pawn for him and if I wanted you, I could have you, he didn't give a shit. I played that male stuff, bragging and buddy-buddy, I find her hot and blablabla. It was surreal but it worked. You're here."

"You _are _a great manipulator," she scoffed.

"So are _you_ my dear," he struck back.

They had both experienced each other's talent in the field more than once. Mutual admiration and mind games made up not so bad memories. That was how their attraction and feelings had built up.

The past made the present a little less oppressive. Carrie was now looking at him and her face was a bit more relaxed. Emotions had given way to concentration.

It was good news. He needed her to be clear-headed. And her intelligence was her sexiest feature. Damn. He wanted her again. Nope, not the right time.

"He said he could arrange something for us," he resumed. "They have the equivalent of a witness protection program. So we can start new lives with new identities in some country we would have to pick. Preferably one with no extradition treaty with the USA. Just in case." He paused and added: "Of course, the baby makes things much more complicated."

As he expected, she immediately shot back: "A baby will never hold me back from doing what I want."

Realizing she might have fallen in some kind of trap, she quickly changed the subject: "How long are you supposed to stay here on this island?"

He noticed the "you", didn't point it out, and decided to follow that path. Putting pressure on Carrie was the last thing to do. "I'm leaving some time during the night. I'll be taken to another place, another island belonging to the IRGC but with the necessary infrastructure to prepare for that new identity. I'll learn a new language and a new job. I was considering lumberjack, what do you think?"

A smile flickered across Carrie's face: "What?"

"Like Dexter, you know, the TV show? The kids were great fans."

She shook her head: "I hardly ever watch TV."

All right, that was lame, but at least she smiled for a second. "Never mind. So that's the story. It's up to you now."

"I can't believe how easy you make it sound."

"Well, it is for me. I have nothing to lose – except you. There's no turning back. I've made my decision."

It was not easy. He lied. He might never see his children again. But he wanted to appear determined. Damn, he was supposed to be in charge here. But deep inside, he knew she would be the stronger of the two when things really happened; IF things really happened. If she said no, he would be a mess. He was not even sure he would be able to make it at all.

Carrie got up and started pacing up and down the room. "Okay, let me see if I understand properly; you've screwed Saul's plan up and turned Javadi in to the Iranian authorities."

"Yes. I don't give a shit about what happens to Javadi, he's an asshole; he killed Yousef point blank without blinking, so he may well end up hanging from a crane somewhere in Tehran for all I care."

She nodded. "He _is _the king of assholes; a monster." She remembered the gruesome aftermath in the home of Javadi's daughter-in-law and that little baby boy bawling his eyes out. It was awful; that man was capable of such savagery. Yes. He was the one who held the weapons. But in the end, the two women had been killed because of Saul's plan. And because of her.

_Collateral damage._

She had never wanted to dwell on that, had never even questioned Saul's plan. Why? Because she was not paid to ask questions and have remorse. And because Saul's plan was essential.

Or was it?

As if reading her mind, Brody said: "You know, I've heard things. Iran is considering signing an agreement on its nuclear program."

"Haha. Very funny. That's bad manipulation. You can do better."

"You'll see. All this fucking plan was useless. And Yousef was killed for fucking nothing. Saul will look like a dick. But a live dick at least. He's lucky."

Damn. If that was true…

A knock at the door made her jump.


	7. Recovery

**Choices – 7: Recovery**

Brody goes to the door, opens it; Carrie sees Brody exchange a few words with a man in white and step outside. He leaves the door ajar but she can't hear the conversation that is going on in the corridor.

She goes the other way, deciding to go get some air on the terrace. When she slides open the French windows, the sun has started its descent and it is not as hot. She welcomes the sea breeze that caresses her face when she crosses the terrace to its far end side.

Her heart is still beating faster than usual, but her anger has virtually disappeared. All right, he is not going to work against America's interests, as she thought first. He saved his ass, that's what he did. It doesn't make him a traitor, right?

She allows herself some respite before the long conversation she knows is going to take place in a minute. She's terrified, so she doesn't want to think about it. She's not ready yet.

She takes a deep breath and takes in the stunning view that spreads in front of her. The blue of the sky is hypnotizing. The sea whispers in the distance and the words of a song pop in her head:

_In the sound of the sea_

_In the oceans of me_

_I defined_

_I designed_

_My recovery_

Pop-rock is not her favorite style of music but she has completely fallen for that song, that voice - and the lyrics. They struck her as distressingly suited to Brody's story, and she has listened to it at least a hundred times in the past weeks.

_I don't want to play this game no more_

Maybe that is about her too.

She hears footsteps on the tiles behind her; Brody's pace sounds nervous, hurried. She turns and he hastily calls her name: "Carrie! Carrie!" She doesn't like the tone of his voice, the frown on his face. She joins him quickly and he says: "Carrie. They want to take you back to Tehran, to the airport."

"What? Now?" she asks in disbelief.

"Yes. Either you go with them now or you stay here. And… well. You know." It was so unexpected that he didn't know how to put it and not make it sound too brutal.

"But… I can't take such a decision so quickly! Damn it Brody! I can't! I can't!"

"I know Carrie. I had no idea they'd want to drive you back so early. I tried to argue but they wouldn't budge. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Carrie shakes her head, still not believing that the next seconds are going to change her life forever. One way or the other.

"That's just not possible! Brody, please! We haven't even talked about what we'd do if I…. And the baby. And everything. Damn it! Damn it!" The words jostle in her mouth and in her head. The tears start falling, panic grips her heart; she can't think properly. Think Carrie! Think quick, think right, Carrie. Don't make a mistake you'll regret all your life.

Brody watches her, helpless. He sees her agony, wants to help, but he can't. He wants to beg her: "Don't leave me, please, Carrie. Please. I love you. I need you" but he won't. He wants to take her in his arms, hold her tight, keep her with him and not let her go. But he won't; he won't put her in a cage if she wants to fly away.

She has to make her choice. Alone.

We are always alone inside the box of our mind.

He follows her as she steps back into the room, as she walks up to the door where she left her bags. She grabs them, and turns her head slightly, unable to look him in the eyes: "I'm sorry, Brody. I can't. I just… I can't".

She opens the door and walks away.

* * *

He stares at the door that has just closed behind her. A heavy mass of dark wood that is more terrifying than the doors of all the cells he's been locked in before.

She's gone.

He is free but the hole is inside him now.

He turns around, walks slowly across the room. Sees her towel on the floor. He picks it up and holds it against him. As if her ghost were still somewhere in there. But there is nothing; just a light touch of her smell. Still he clings to it. That's all he's got.

He is back on the terrace. Doesn't look at the seagulls that are flying and laughing above his head. He knows they are mocking him. They're right. He doesn't deserve her giving up her life for him. He deserves nothing. He failed. All he's tried in the past years has failed. It was all for nothing.

At the corner of the terrace and the house wall, there is a little gate that opens onto a small steep stairway. He slowly goes down the narrow steps that lead to a pool surrounded by high bushes. He spent some time there this morning before Carrie's arrival. He was full of hope then. He had just cheated death and was ready to embrace life to the fullest. But with her, not without. Not without…

The sun is now hiding behind the mansion so the water is dark and unappealing. Exactly what he needs.

He lays down Carrie's towel on the sunbed, gently brushes the little creases away. He removes his sandals and slips them under the sunbed. Takes off his pants, underwear and t-shirt, folds them neatly on the towel. His old reflexes are deeply set in his mind of ex-marine. They just take over when there is nothing else left.

He stands on the edge of the pool. Closes his eyes. Hears the seagulls above still laughing at him, even hears them calling his name.

He lets himself fall in the water. Water, where all life began and where it will all end.

* * *

The car starts rolling. She has to keep her sobs silent, the sound of the engine is low, and the two shadows in the front are not speaking. Her eyes dart all around but she is blind to reality. She only sees what's in her head: her father, getting prematurely old for not knowing where she is; her sister falling apart with sorrow on the day they've lost all hope of her ever coming back. With not even a body to bury and visit on Sundays with the girls. Not even a tiny useless star on the CIA fucking Memorial Wall. She sees their tears and it is unbearable. Her mother has also disappeared without a trace. She can't impose that on them again. And she needs them, damn it! She needs them so bad, and will need them even more when the baby's there. The baby. He deserves a nice life, he deserves to grow up in a great country. A great country that has tried to kill his father. Is that what she'll tell him? And will she also tell him that she dumped his father when he needed her most? Because she was terrified? Because she was too fucking scared of the unknown?

Her eyes are focused now. She sees the gates right in front of the car. They are opening slowly as the car gets nearer. Beyond those gates is life as she knows it. Familiar faces and places. Comfort and convenience. Family love and support. God and Saul Berenson and Carrie Mathison save America.

But without Brody.

"STOP!" she yells. "STOP! LET ME OUT!" She fumbles with the door handle, trying to get out, but it's locked.

The driver brakes and turns around to look at her, not getting what he sees, this pregnant woman going mad, eyes bulging and face in tears. "You can't get out here." "I'm not going anywhere, take me back. Just take me the fuck BACK!" she yells. The guy tries to calm her down: "Keep quiet and stop shaking that door." She doesn't listen, continues to yell and cry. He has to pull his gun and brandish it under her nose for her to stop. He looks at the other guy who shakes his head. He rolls his eyes in response, and sets the car in motion, makes a U-turn in the large alleyway.

The tears she cries now are of relief. "How could I? How could I?" she scolds herself.

Two minutes later, she's back in the house, running up the stairs and calling Brody between two gasps of breath. She opens the door of the room, sees it is empty and runs to the terrace. It is empty too. "Damn it, Brody! Where the fuck are you again!" she laughs. She runs across the terrace, takes a look down into the garden but can't see any movement. "Damn it, damn it," she mumbles, fear starting to mount. Something's wrong.

All she hears are the seagulls laughing.

"Brody!" she calls. "Brody!" she calls louder. "BRODY!"

She thinks she hears a sound, stops pacing around and listens. A faint voice. Yes. "Carrie!" She recognizes his voice. The voice of the man she loves more than anything.

* * *

At the bottom of the narrow stairway, he is soaking wet and shivering.

He presses her in his arms as much as he can without keeping her from breathing. She is so warm. So alive. He needs some of her vital energy to flow into him.

Coming back from the dead is not easy.

But it is worth it. He knows, he's been there before.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she sobs on his bare shoulder.

"Shhhhh, it's okay, love. It's okay. Everything will be okay now."

* * *

_A/N: _

_I'm sorry I've put you - and Brody - through this but:_

_-Carrie needed to go to the extreme last limit to be able to take such a radical decision_

_-I symbolically needed to "revive" Brody. I want him back so bad… _

_There are also several parallels with the finale. _

_The song I'm referring to is "Recovery" by James Arthur. It is amazing and seems like it's been written for Brody. If I knew how to do it, I would do a tribute video to Brody on that song._

_And by the way, this fic is not over yet! We'll hear from Carrie and Brody very soon…  
Thanks for reading!_


	8. The Moth and the Flame

_All right, this is a different update; it's not about Carrie and Brody, so you can skip to the next (and last...) chapter if you just want to hear from them. _

_This is about Fara and Quinn; I've always thought they would make a nice couple… but I'm not sure Quinn has given up on Carrie yet._

* * *

**Choices – 8: The Moth and the Flame**

She is looking at herself in the bathroom mirror and likes the light make-up she has chosen to wear for tonight's date with Peter.

Peter… Ever since she set eyes on him on her first day at the CIA, she has been quietly in love with him. She is a quiet person; a pretty but invisible lady, a smart agent but to whom nobody pays attention. She does her job well but always in silence. That's the story of her life. It's okay, that's just the way she is.

The only time she spoke up was when they were planning to send Javadi back to Iran as an asset while knowing he was responsible for the CIA bombing. But of course, they didn't listen to her. She thinks they didn't even hear what she said.

At least, now Javadi is dead. She doesn't like violence but she couldn't help feeling some relief when she saw his public hanging in Tehran on the Iranian channel his father always watched at home. She didn't like that channel very much but she never said no to her father anyway.

A few weeks later, her father went back to Tehran to live with his brother Masud. He wanted to remarry and hadn't adjusted well to life in the USA. He also had trouble accepting his daughter was working for the CIA. So after her father left, she relished the little transgressions she allowed herself, one of them was to stop wearing a headscarf at work. She knew it represented a barrier between her and the men she could be interested in. Well, _the_ man she _was_ interested in.

And to be honest, the disappearance of Carrie also helped a lot. She loved Carrie – well, to be more accurate, let's say that she respected her, even admired her – but she was so… incandescent! She attracted all the light on her at the CIA. And she attracted Peter's eyes too. So she was a little jealous. No. Not a little. A lot.

So she watched in quiet, helpless pain at Peter who was always so concerned about Carrie; who was always searching for her, whether at the office or on a screen or when in the field. She was jealous of the look in his eyes when he gazed at Carrie as if mesmerized. His stare was usually piercing and cold but when Carrie was around, there was a softness in his eyes that was just irresistible. So yes, she was jealous of Carrie.

But it hurt her also because obviously Carrie didn't care much for Peter; she liked him all right, but the only man she really loved was Brody. The passion that Carrie felt for Brody was something strange for Fara; much more than strange actually, downright scary. It was obvious that such passion was destructive. But apparently it didn't scare Carrie.

Carrie was not scared of anything. She rarely thought twice before acting.

One day, she went to Tehran to help Brody, and one week later, they both disappeared. That was six months ago.

So little by little, Fara started to speak to Peter more often. She was always around when he needed something, always ready to help and find answers if he had any question. One day, her hand brushed his inadvertently, and for the first time, he looked at her. There was almost a look of surprise in his light blue eyes, as if he had never seen her before. He also looked at the rest of her face, and her hair, and she thought she was going to faint, right there in the office. She had never felt such thing before. It was… troubling; very disturbing, but definitely addictive.

The following days, they spoke more often; he even smiled a couple of times, which was a rare occurrence before Carrie's disappearance, but had never happened since. And one night, he said the words she had always dreamed of hearing: "Fara, how about a drink tonight?"

So they have been seeing each other for three months, one week and two days now. They have spent several nights together, always at her place. It surprised her at first that he would never offer to go to his place, but one day, they stopped there on their way to her house, and she understood why: the house was almost empty. It was cold and bare, not really the coziest nest for two lovers. So now her bedroom is the bedroom of love, as she calls it. She has decorated it with cute little items - and bolder ones, such as a large mirror in front of the bed. Her father would kill her, she thinks with a little laugh.

But today is special. He told her this morning that he has something important to tell her, and that he is taking her to a classy restaurant. She blushed when she heard that and has been wondering all day what it is about. She knows that an engagement proposal after only three months of dating doesn't happen often here, but still – she can't help hoping for a fine ring. And Mrs Fara Quinn doesn't sound too bad, does it?

The doorbell makes her heart stutter. She flies to the door and greets Peter, a smile on her face.

* * *

The meal was absolutely delicious. She is even a little tipsy with the White Zinfandel. As they are now chatting over dessert, she remembers that it is usually the moment American men choose to do it, or at least, that's what she has seen many times in movies and TV shows. So when Peter starts "I have something important to tell you, honey", her heart starts beating so fast that she feels like she is going to take off from her chair.

"I've been offered a job as case officer in our Istanbul station."

Fara keeps the smile on her face although she feels like she has been punched in the stomach.

"Oh really?" she manages to say. She doesn't ask what his answer was. She knows. Turkey has a common border with Iran. He hasn't given up on Carrie.

He looks at her fixedly but without really focusing on her: "Yes, isn't that good news?" The cold stare is back. He is already gone over there, already searching for Carrie.

He adds matter-of-factly:" Who knows, maybe they'll ask you to come too?"

She nods: "Yes, who knows?"

She knows they might, but she also knows she will say no. She is no match for Carrie; even if she has disappeared, her light is still shining bright. Fara is just a little moth that can only burn itself if she comes too close.

She will silently cry in her bed tonight. Alone.


	9. Epilogue

_Lipamo: thank you! and I'm glad you've seen the parallels with the show. The writers didn't care about the Carrie/Brody love story, they couldn't wait to get rid of it in S3… _

_Betweentheraindrops: awww, thank you for being so concerned for Carrie. Oh yes, I know, it's not fair – but life is not always fair, particularly in Homeland, is it? I warned for controversial choices, that's what this fic is about. Don't worry about Carrie's health, she will find the necessary medicines, that was one of the criteria when they picked a country; it will also be the opportunity for her to grow up and assume responsibility of herself as an adult._

_Anyway, I believe Carrie and Brody belong to the category of "mad people" Kerouac is talking about in his quotation on your profile… _

_That's how I'll keep them in my memory, not one dead and the other one tame like in the finale._

* * *

**Choices – Epilogue**

_2 years and a half later_

Louise likes her job a lot; she has worked as a hotel receptionist for 8 years, and today, she is in charge of supervising breakfast. She thinks it's fun to watch people in the morning. Their customers come from all over the world, mainly on business, but also to visit one of the most beautiful cities in the world. They are located in the center, near the Champs-Elysées; this is not a palace but a cozy and elegant hotel in a quiet street.

Her favorite couple has just arrived in the dining room. She glances at the wall-clock and smiles; as usual, they are only 10 minutes before the buffet closes. She doesn't understand why they don't ask to be served in the room, but suspects it might be a private a joke between them: he is always the one who gets the croissants from the buffet and serves her.

Whatever their reasons, it gives her the opportunity to watch them.

They are Russians but they speak fluent English. She knows the woman, Lena, is an English teacher, but she doesn't really know what the man's job is. He has never talked about it. Ivan is tall and athletic, a little intimidating at first with his shaved head, thin red beard and little ring in his left ear, but his smile is warm and his voice gentle.

She knows they've come here in Paris for a five-day honeymoon; they were unable to travel at the time of their wedding and it was a dream they always entertained. They left their baby boy at home with friends of theirs. He seems worried to be far away from little Sasha. He is always very quick to answer the phone when it rings, and immediately rushes downstairs if there is a problem with the internet or Skype connection in the room. He showed her a picture of Sasha once, beaming with pride at having fathered such a little wonder. The baby boy had a solemn look on his face in the picture. His strawberry blond hair was curly like an angel's, and his big blue eyes had some sort of distant depth in them that Lousie found a bit unsettling for a baby that age. Ivan explained that he is a bit reserved but has already a very strong personality, his favorite word being "no", Ivan laughed, adding "like his mother".

Lena seems slightly more detached about the baby. Louise is ready to bet that the decision to travel without him comes from her. Obviously, she wanted her husband all for herself; the way she looks at him is just… ouh la la! She literally devours him with her eyes.

These two are incredibly in love with each other. Louise has received several complaints from clients in neighboring rooms who said they made too much noise at night… Apparently their love making can be a bit rough at times.

Louise sighs, she hopes she and her boyfriend will still feel as much passion when they get close to their forties…

What she also likes about them is that they go out every night in clubs to listen to jazz or rock. They like French wine but also hard liquor; on their first night, they asked her about addresses of bars specializing in Whisky and also Tequila. Not Vodka; oh well, they probably have enough Vodka home. She saw them coming back since when she was on the nightshift, they were clearly drunk and chuckled all the way to their room.

They are flying back home tonight. She will miss them.

* * *

"Ivan, what do you want to do for our last hours here in Paris?" she whispers in Brody's ear, mildly biting at it and playing with his earing.

"What about… staying in the room?" he answers, turning his head to plant a kiss on Carrie's mouth. He likes her Lena hairstyle, bobbed golden brown hair; the dark-rimmed glasses she often wears also make her look fucking damn hot. And of course, the fact that they are alone together here in Paris means they can make up for all the stressful days and sleepless nights that have accumulated since their reunion in Iran. Strolling around Paris in the summer sun, enjoying the nightlife, and making love. That is _some_ honeymoon. Sex… damn, they seem to never have enough of it.

It was her idea to leave Sasha with their friends in Samara; he was not too sure about that, but she convinced him. The Antonoves are her school colleagues, they have three kids, two dogs and one grandma home. They seem trustworthy enough and never ask questions - but he thought it was too early. They've known them for a little over a year only, and he was terrified at the idea of being separated from the only one of his children he could still hold in his arms - but… when Carrie wants something, one can't fight, right?

"I've got the postcard to mail," she says.

"All right then, we can go for a walk, and you'll mail it right now if you want."

She nods solemnly. The postcard is the main reason for their short trip in Paris. She has chosen a nice view of the Seine meandering under gorgeous bridges with Notre-Dame in the background. She knows her dad could well take the first flight to Paris so she's had to make clear that she doesn't live in France. But she can't tell them anything else. Not even about the baby. But at least, they'll know she's alive.

There is a yellow mailbox at the corner of the hotel street and the Champs-Elysées. Hand in hand, they walk slowly down the street. The air is warm and humid; thunder growls in the distance and clouds start invading the morning sky. The plain white envelope holding the postcard is in her right hand.

When they reach the mailbox, she checks her sister's address on the envelope one last time. Now her hand starts shaking. She looks at Brody, she feels the tears welling up and asks him: "Will you do it for me please?" "Sure, love".

He gently takes the envelope from her trembling hand and before dropping it into the box, looks at her questioningly. She nods.

The letter is gone.

Just as he takes her in his arms, big fat raindrops start falling on their heads. "Hey, I told you!" he laughs, "We've got to spend our last hours here in the bedroom." The rain hides the tears on her cheeks. "I think you're right. Let's run! The last one will have to do a dare," she challenges.

Louise is back at the front desk; she sees them running from the pouring rain into the lobby and upstairs, glancing at her with a smile. She smiles back and shakes her head.

She will definitely miss them.

She loves crazy people.

* * *

In their little house in Samara, Carrie wakes up well before Brody. It happens all the time. She still needs very little sleep, although she strictly observes her psychiatrist's prescription.

She has accepted to see a psychiatrist on a regular basis; she's had to see four of them before finding the one she could put up with. She's smart enough to know the time has come for her to face her illness and deal with it like the adult she has had to become. Sounds fucking boring. It is. A bit. But everything comes with a price.

She silently gets up and goes check on Sasha. His breathing is regular. That's her biggest fear. That he would stop breathing, just like that. She tends to check on him all the time when he is sleeping. It makes Brody smile but he understands. He has his own obsessions.

Being a mother is much much harder than being a CIA agent - beginning with the delivery. Damn, she'll never do it again, that's for sure. The hospital in Samara is very modern and the staff efficient, but it was too late for the epidural. She thought she was going to die. But she focused on Brody, who held her hand all along at the risk of getting his bones crushed. He also never stopped whispering words of encouragement in her ear, and when he cut the umbilical cord, he was radiating with such pride that she allowed herself to feel a little proud too. A few minutes later, she watched in awe as Brody's ecstatic eyes filled up with tears when handed the tiny crying bundle. He kissed the little head with infinite tenderness and then put the baby delicately in her arms. He wrapped them both in his and only then, in the safety of his embrace, she knew she could learn to love this little alien creature that had forced its way out of her stomach.

Overall, they have since been doing okay. Better than she expected. Even though living an "ordinary" life is not easy for her. Brody is much better at it so he is the balancing element of their small family. She misses her father and sister and nieces but she is confident they'll be able to go back sooner or later, at least to the American continent. When things have settled down. She considered sending a postcard from Paris to Lockhart with a big "Fuck you, signed Carrie Mathison and Nicholas Brody" but she knew it was childish and would be a useless reminder of their existence. Anger still swells in her when she thinks of the Tehran episode that was about to end up in Brody's execution. For nothing, mind you Saul. Because Brody was right: Iran did sign that fucking agreement.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath: calm down, Carrie, it's all behind you now.

She goes back to bed and lies down beside Brody. She watches him, her head resting on her hand. His nightmares seem to have abated lately. It reminds her of the time when she was spying on him, spending so many nights with him from behind a screen. She has never told him about it; some things are better left unsaid.

She glances at the clock. The alarm will set off soon. She presses the stop button. She relishes that moment; it is part of her daily routine when she's awake before him. She will slide down under the sheets because she thinks her mouth is a sweeter alarm than a clock radio.

He definitely agrees with that.

* * *

_A/N_

_All right, so here we are: that was the final update for this fic, at least for the time being. I might add other chapters later on or start a sequel, I've got a few ideas but I need them to develop further in my mind. _

_Anyway, this fic was my own "fuck you" (lengthy) postcard to the series writers, and I'm glad some of you enjoyed it too. _

_At least, in this parallel universe, Carrie and Brody are together, alive and in love - and everything will be okay…_


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